Without Pain
by alliluna
Summary: On a frightening night, Matthew and Mary are given a greater appreciation that things turned out the way that they did.


_So, first of all this is dedicated to the wonderful Patsan for her birthday. She has been so kind to me and I really wanted to do something special for her birthday, and this piece was nagging at me._

_Last weekend, I read The Fault in Our Stars (amazing, tearjerking book by the way) and one quote really struck me in particular. It was something along the lines of "Without pain, how could we know joy?" And of course, being the fangirl that I am, that made me think of M/M and how what they went through possibly could have made them happier in their marriage. _

_I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The pounding rain mingled with the cries of an infant to create an entirely unpleasant sound. Matthew winced as he waited outside the nursery, trying to blink back tears. He tried to put on a happy face when Mary emerged out of the room, though. No use in dwelling on what might be.

"What did Clarkson say? Will he be okay?"

Mary nodded. "He's quite sick, but the fever seems to be going down and Clarkson says the fact that he's crying is a good sign. He has strong enough lungs to cry like this."

He let out a sigh of relief. "You have no idea how scared I was. I couldn't bear it if..."

"George will be fine," Mary assured him.

"I know, but Clarkson...well, Lavinia seemed fine at first and..."

"Calm down, Matthew. They're watching over him. It was just a scare. Honestly, I know you're scared, but you need to trust me." She brushed his messy hair out of his eyes.

Matthew exhaled heavily. "The pain if we ever do lose him though...why is there always so much pain?"

"Without pain, how would we know joy?" Mary pressed a finger to his lips and cut him off. "If everyone was happy all the time, they never would truly appreciate happiness."

"Milady, come quickly!" The nanny peeked out the doorway. Both Mary and Matthew rushed into the small room to see a thrashing George in his crib. "It doesn't look good."

Matthew bit his lip and his wife gently led him to the door. "Wait out here."

He hated being thrust to the sidelines when he felt like he should be helping, but then again he wasn't quite sure of what to do, and anything with death simply made him freeze over and think of the war again. Sybil's death had given him nightmares for weeks. It made him feel terrible, that he was the one needing comfort when Mary had gone through a bigger trauma. She had gently reassured him that the nightmares didn't bother her, that she understood. Still, it made him feel lesser.

Maybe that was why Mary had forced him out. Staying would only hurt him. There was nothing he could do.

Except maybe there was.

He felt bad about leaving the nursery when his son was in such danger, but if he could just get back in time he was sure everything would be fine.

And so it was down the hall, into his dressing room. He rarely used it, and he was certain he had never slept in the bed. Even after a fight, he and Mary had always slept in the same room, shared the same bed. It felt wrong not to. He dressed for dinner in the room, and stored his clothes, but that was it.

There was a trunk at the bottom of a wardrobe, a trunk that he rarely opened. It held his uniforms from his army years, the bright red one for show and the brown wool one for fighting. He took in a sharp breath as he opened it, memories flooding back. Memories of people who died too soon. Would his son be one of those?

On top of the uniforms was a little dog, dirtier and older, much like any man who went to war. But the dog was different than most soldiers. It had come back without a scratch, just as he had promised.

He paused before taking it, realizing he was in a crouched position over the trunk. Tingles of pain were starting to pulse through his back, so he straightened up and in one swift motion, grabbed the dog.

It felt oddly light in his hands. He hadn't touched it, hadn't held it since his mother had given it back to him. It had remained in his room at Crawley House, and then after Lavinia's death he couldn't bear to look at it. When Molesley had asked him about it when he was about to move into the abbey, after his marriage, he had said to put it with his uniforms. And he hadn't seen it since.

He ought to give it back to Mary, he realized. It was hers, and he was safe now. Maybe she needed it more than him.

But George needed it most of all right now.

He was back at the nursery door, and George was still crying. A deep breath, an apprehensive hand placed on the knob, and he was in the room. "I told you to wait," Mary chided, a hand coming immediately to rest on his arm. "I didn't think you should be in here with everything..."

Matthew shook his head and broke away from her arm. "George, you are going to make it," he whispered, and placed the dog into the crib.

"You've kept it?" Mary breathed, placing a hand on her son's forehead.

"Of course. It kept me safe, how could I not? Now I'm just hoping it will do the same for George," he replied.

She pushed that stubborn lock of hair that liked to fall into his face out of his eyes. "It will. But really, I think you should leave. I know how much it bothers you... I don't want you to have nightmares again," she said, remembering the terrible night after Sybil had died.

With newfound determination Matthew shook his head. "No, I need to be here. Let me."

Mary raised an eyebrow, but turned back to the nanny and Clarkson, who were standing over the baby. "How is he?"

Clarkson felt George's forehead once more and smiled. "The fever has broken," he announced. "He will be fine."

"Thank God," Mary whispered, leaning back over the crib. "You're a strong boy, aren't you, George." When she came back up, the little dog was in her hands. "It definitely has served its purpose."

Matthew nodded. "It's worked numerous times."

"It may bring some pain, but it always leaves room for the joy," Mary said, finally sinking into a chair.

He looked over his son. The infant was flushed, bright red, but he was breathing steadily and fast asleep. George would be alright. George would bring them joy for years to come. "There is always a silver lining," he mused.

She smiled. "Always."

The rain had stopped. The crying had stopped. The pain was gone.

"I love you," he said, pulling her out of the chair. She stroked his face and smiled, then impulsively kissed him.

"No one is more important to me than you. And George, of course," she whispered. "You will always bring me joy."

What was joy without pain? He would never know. There had been so much pain, so much that the joy was precious, so much more so.

Always.


End file.
